


Heartbreak of an Elf

by ThedasWitch



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Compliant Angst, F/M, Post-Demands of the Qun, act Two finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5761888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThedasWitch/pseuds/ThedasWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris had never seen anything that caused him more pain than Hawke’s eyes gone hard and cold with his rejection.</p><p>Except, perhaps, the sight of those same eyes glassed over with agony as the Arishok lifted her aloft on his blade.</p><p>Companion to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5275865">Heartbreak of a Champion</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartbreak of an Elf

**Author's Note:**

> I am a bad, bad person

When Fenris walked away from her, the look on Hawke’s face nearly broke him. He'd forced himself not to look back, knowing that more than a glimpse of the pain on her face would be enough to bring him to his knees. 

He knew that he would carry that image of her, lying on the bed with confusion and pain in her eyes, with him until the day he died. He swore that he would do all that he could to avoid causing her such pain again, even if it killed him to maintain the distance between them. He didn't believe it was possible for an expression to cut him more deeply ever again. 

Only a few weeks later, he was proven wrong. 

Because watching her fight the Arishok, watching her frantically casting spells meant to immobilize the charging Qunari, watching her gulp down potions just to stay on her feet--that was just as painful. 

And watching the expression on her face change from focused rage to searing agony as the Arishok impaled her and lifted her high--that was worse. 

He was hyper-aware of every sound, every bit of movement in the hall. He could hear Isabela’s gasps, Varric’s muttered curses and encouragements, see Merrill watch the duel between her fingers. Sebastian prayed softly, imploring the Maker to guard and guide Hawke in her battle, while Aveline had a death grip on the hilt of her sword.

It was all he could do to hold himself back, knowing that if he ran to her side the way he longed to, the duel and every life in Kirkwall would be forfeit. She struggled, and at Fenris’s side he saw the abomination made a gesture to send tendrils of healing magic to her, rules of the duel be damned. Fenris didn't stop him.

Somehow, Hawke freed herself, and somehow she retained enough strength to say on her feet. With a final, desperate thrust of her staff blade, the Qunari fell. She turned to face her audience, face pale, and leaning heavily on her staff, but grinning in that way only Hawke did.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she quipped, and promptly collapsed where she stood. 

The assembled nobles surged forward to surround her, only giving her space when Aveline forced her way in with threats and hard shoves. Anders rushed to Hawke’s side, his hands already glowing with healing magic as he knelt beside her. 

Fenris didn’t move. He wanted to-- _ Maker, he wanted to _ \--but he felt like he’d been petrified where he stood. His eyes were fixed on the prone figure in the center of the hall, on the spreading pool of blood beneath her, on the shock of orange hair come loose from its binding. He barely breathed, afraid that after all of his promises to keep her safe his words with the Arishok had sent Hawke to her death.

The shifting crowd soon blocked Hawke from his gaze, and like a spell had broken, Fenris could move again. He forced his way through the crowd, coming to a halt at the abomination’s side. The man was hard at work, beads of sweat standing out on his forehead as he focused on the still-bleeding wound in Hawke’s side.

Bleeding was good, Fenris told himself. Bleeding meant a heartbeat. Meant that she still lived.

He laid a hand on Anders’s shoulder, touching him willingly for the first time. The mage started, looking up at him with irritation.

“The…” Fenris’s voice was hoarse, his throat suddenly bone dry. “The markings. The lyrium. Use them.”

A look of understanding passed over Anders’s face, and Fenris could feel the magic extend to him and latch on to the power under his skin. Anders was visibly strengthened, and he returned to his work.

Aveline and Sebastian cleared the hall of gawking nobles. Fenris barely noticed that the room had been emptied. He didn’t know how long he stood there, letting the mage--the  _ abomination _ \--tap into the lyrium markings as he labored over Hawke.

But finally, blessedly, Anders sat back. His face was drawn and ashen, but had a look of relief.

“She’ll recover,” he said. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t completely heal everything...there was just too much...but she’ll be able to do the rest on her own. She can be moved, to her own bed at least, but she needs rest now. I’ve done all I can.”

Distantly, Fenris heard Sebastian call for someone to assist them, and he watched as the archer picked Hawke up like she weighed nothing at all--Hawke, who had never been delicate, who was all muscle and fire and passion-- and carry her through the doors. Isabela walked beside them, murmuring soft words of comfort and thanks. Aveline supported Anders with an arm around his shoulders, and they too left the room, flanked by Varric and the witch. Fenris followed the group out of the Keep and to the Amell estate, where they were greeted by a flurry of concerned activity.

After what seemed like hours--or was it only a few moments?-- Hawke was finally laid in bed, Anders passed out in a chair at her side. Her other companions left the room, gathering in front of the hearth to rest and speak softly.

Bodahn found food and bedrolls for all of them, saying that anyone who wanted could stay until his mistress woke. It wasn’t the first time they had all slept at the Amell estate rather than make a late-night journey home, but this night had none of the same atmosphere as the others. Every one of them was preoccupied, with worry for Hawke and for the city.

None of them spoke much, beyond quiet thanks to Bodahn and Orana when they brought supper. Every so often, someone would start a low conversation, but each time it petered out quickly. Once or twice a messenger came for Aveline, but in the wake of the Qunari leaving, the city seemed to have fallen silent, at least for the moment. Kirkwall was licking her wounds.

Fenris stayed on the edges of the group, not particularly wanting to be among them but not wanting to leave Hawke’s home either.

In his mind, he went over and over the encounter with the Arishok. Even though he knew that it hadn’t been possible, he couldn’t help but feel like he  _ should _ have been able to help. Should’ve been able to stop Hawke from accepting the challenge, should’ve been able to prevent her taking blow after blow from the Arishok. He’d made a promise to keep her from harm.

A tiny, cruel voice kept reminding him that she wasn’t his to protect.

Even now, they couldn’t be entirely sure that she’d live through the night. Anders was a skilled healer--Fenris loathed the man, but he couldn’t deny it--but Hawke had been wounded gravely. There was still a chance that something would go wrong, and she would never wake.

_ What does magic touch that it doesn’t spoil? _

A chance that that would be the last real conversation they’d had, that she’d die with her last memory of him was him leaving.

He shouldn’t have left her. He should’ve gone back, should’ve gotten on his knees before her and begged for forgiveness. 

_ It never spoiled you. Never you. _

He should have told her then, that she had consumed him. That losing her would destroy him utterly.

But he hadn’t.

And now he might never have the chance.


End file.
